


London Calling

by TheRedPoet



Series: Wiccan Wizard [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2013-08-18
Packaged: 2017-12-23 23:19:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/932262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRedPoet/pseuds/TheRedPoet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Willow had wanted had been a nice quiet afternoon while Harry was off on a case on the set of some movie. But even apprentice wizards sometimes find themselves dragged into things they'd rather have stayed out of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	London Calling

**Author's Note:**

> Spelling mistakes are all mine. If anyone has suggestions for a name to call this series, I'd love them! :)

A slow sense of peace came upon Willow as she stepped through the door of Macanally's pub. It might've been due to the strategic feng-shui placement of the thirteen tables, thirteen chairs and bar stools. Or maybe it was just the smell of Mac's heavenly cooking. Willow didn't know. She was just an apprentice when it all came down to it.

The place was packed and she had to squeeze between an elderly lady leaning on a heavy cane and one of the thirteen pillars that were carved with figures from old folk tales to get to the bar. She settled onto one of the stools by the polished wood of the bar and waited for Mac to finish cooking for one of the other customers.

A grizzled old practioner who had tricked Willow in a game of dice and taken 10 bucks off her walked up to grab his order, noticing her as he did. Willow tried smiling at him which made only made the man lengthen his stride, avoiding her gaze. She may only be an apprentice, but Harry was pretty infamous in the local crowd. Besides, the man didn't have enough kinetomancy in him to topple a glass of water. Mac directed his attention to her. He was an unremarkable looking man of average height, bald and of indeterminate age. He acknowledged her with a nod.

"A coke, please, Mac," she said.

There was time to spare deciding what to eat. The barkeeper grunted an affirmative and handed her the drink. Willow sipped slowly as she thought about steak sandwiches and onion rings, gaze wandering until it fell upon someone who had just gotten seated to her right. Willow closed her eyes. Following Harry's instructions, she'd begun practising her ability to memorize as many details as possible based on a quick look. Sometimes people, sometimes places. Often, he said, that was all you'd get. Was there or was there not a gun in that guy's hand? Did he fire six shots or five? It was the kind of thing that could determine whether you were a lucky punk or not.

The new arrival was a young woman, late teens or very early twenties, with light brown hair, horn-rimmed glasses a grey pant-suit. The girl ordered a glass of lemonade in an accent that sounded Texan to Willow. A little while went by before Willow dared another look. She quickly realised that her first impression of the girl had been faulty. The girl looked rather like the Hollywood version of the nerdy librarian, a supermodel in conservative clothing, glasses and a hairdo that wasn't entirely flattering to her otherwise incredible looks. Her skin was fair, her nose cute and pert. Behind the spectacles, her eyes were bright green and gorgeous. Actually, a bit like... No! Not going there.

"Hi- Um- Hello," Willow said, suave as you please, quickly lowering her eyes from the girl's to the cute nose instead.

"Oh," the girl smiled uncertainly at her, her teeth white and straight enough for a tooth paste commercial. She reached for her drink, almost knocked it over, steadied it and then returned her attention to Willow again.

"I-I've seen you here before."

"Oh." She couldn't very well admit she hadn't seen her in return. That'd be rude. "I'm Willow."

The girl hesitated for a moment, then flashed her teeth in another smile.

"Call me Lizzie."

"Nice meeting you." 

More awkward smiles were exchanged and Willow downed the rest of her drink while she thought of something to say. By the time she was ready, though, she noted that Lizzie attention had shifted to the foot long rune-carved rod tied to the inside of Willow's coat.

The other girl's mouth had fallen open. "Is that...?"

"Yeah." Willow didn't really know what else to say. "Are you - Uh - part of the crowd?"

"Oh, heavens no." Lizzie looked around the bar. "I've heard a lot about this place and I've been curious, is all."

Willow could understand that. "People haven't been very talkative, have they?"

Lizzie shrugged, then glanced at Willow's empty bottle. She hesitated for a moment and then took a deep breath, visibly steeling herself.

"Do you want to get a table?" She asked hopefully. "We could talk a bit more, and uh, I could buy you a drink something?"

Willow considered that, somewhat distracted by the way Lizzie bit down on her bottom lip as she waited. Was she being treated to something more akin to a date or did the girl just want to get some information? Maybe for The Arcane. It wouldn't the first time a reporter tried. In the end, Willow decided that it wasn't like she had anything better to do at the moment, regardless of what underlying motives Lizzie might or might not have.

"Sure," she said, rising and walking over to a recently abandoned corner table. Lizzie lingered at the bar for a moment and returned with two bottles of coke.

"Here you go."

Willow reached out for her drink, then, struck with a sudden thought, withdrew her outstretched hand as if she'd been about to touch a container of nitro-glycerine. For a second, she didn't even know why it had happened. Lasciel, maybe?

Then the details of the from the previous fifteen minutes coalesced into a coherent pattern and she looked up at Lizzie's bright, intelligent eyes. The other girl's gaze quickly flickered elsewhere. There were a number of options available to her that she could utilize to clarify matters. She could use her sight. But that was a risky way of going about it. Lizzie could be something monstrous, horrible enough just even looking at her true form would tear Willow's mind asunder. Which would be detrimental to the progress of her day. 

She could ask Lasciel, of course, but that information always came at a price. There was a simpler option, one that was far unlikelier to end with spontaneous insanity.

"Look at me," Willow said, keeping her voice soft. People generally did not react well to wizards trying to be intimidating. 

Lizzie pointedly avoided her eyes, though her lips curved into a sly smile.

"Look- At - Me," Willow repeated.

Smiling wider yet, Lizzie did. Willow held her breath for a heartbeat as she waited for the soulgaze. The moment came and went without anything happening. Willow swallowed. There were plenty of beings who were able to pass for human, but there was only one kind that Willow knew of that would attempt to indebt people to them.

"Who are you? And what do you want?"

In the space of a blink, Lizzie's eyes changed, becoming slitted like a cat's. They retained their colouring, though.

"I am Maeve." She waited a second and smiled wickedly at the horror-struck expression Willow could feel spreading across her face.

If she'd picked drink up, she would've owed a favour to the youngest Queen of the Winter Sidhe. Willow's back met the wall with a thud as she tried to recoil on pure instinct. Maeve stood, leant forward over the table with her palms on the wooden surface, smiling down on Willow, her body language supremely confident.

"I have a task I would like you to complete for me, mortal."

Willow thought back on the lessons Harry had given her on the ways of the Sidhe and the supernatural baddies in general. 

“Never let them see you're rattled, kid,” he'd said. She gave the Winter Lady her best uninterested look.

"And what makes you think I'd be stupid enough to deal with you?"

To her dismay, Maeve's smile broadened. The way she'd stuttered had probably ruined the effect she was going for.

"Because I have something of yours," she replied. "Something you are going to want back."

Willow blinked.

"What?"

"I will tell you at your master's residence in an hours time, away from prying ears and eyes."

Willow just stared as the Winter Lady walked away.

"You're in trouble now, sweetie," Lasciel's voice sing-songed teasingly in her head.

"Oh shut up," Willow thought back, getting out of her seat and leaving the drinks untouched.  
She had some preparations to make.

***

Willow stepped under the cold spray of the shower and closed her eyes. She was still getting used to the lack of a water heater, but with two wizards living under the same roof, there wasn't any way of keeping one functioning reliably. One moment, she stood there quite alone. The next, she felt a warm and soft body press up against her back. A very naked and very feminine body.

"Every time, Lasciel," she protested half-heartedly.

It couldn't be denied that it was a very pleasant sensation. She knew very well why Lasciel always appeared when she showered, though. It offered the fallen angel a certain psychological advantage. Willow was naked, after all, and with that came a sense of vulnerability.

"Is that a protest?," she asked softly in Willow's ear. The image Lasciel projected was tall enough for her to place her chin on Willow's shoulder.

"No, I guess not," Willow replied. "What's up?"

Warm arms enveloped her, the feeling comforting and familiar by now.

"Do I need a reason to converse with you?" Lasciel asked, her voice playful.

Willow laughed.

"No, but you always have one."

"True," Lasciel agreed, then said. "Maeve is dangerous."

Willow rolled her eyes and knew that Lasciel would be able to tell even if she wasn't in her line of sight.

"Do not forget that. No matter what she does or says. You cannot win a fight against her, not with all the luck in the world. If you end up indebted to her, you will regret it for the rest of your life."

"Thank you," Willow said dryly. "Any hints on how to handle her?"

"Yes."

"What will it cost me?"

Lasciel considered that for a moment, though Willow was pretty sure she only did it for effect. She'd had plenty of time to think of whatever price she'd ask for her advice this time around.

"You will go to the beach later today and tomorrow for a run," Lasciel decided after a while.  
Willow groaned. "Are you going to work me until I puke again?"

Lasciel caressed her cheek.

"Yes, sweetie. No rest, no mercy, no matter what."

Willow reached for the strawberry scented shampoo. "You're a slavedriver."

"Love you too." 

Lasciel summarized what she should do while Willow washed her hair. By the time the suds were gone, the angel was too, leaving her cold, shivering and alone again.

***

There is one fundamental rule when dealing with predators, supernatural or otherwise. Don't look or act like prey. Willow went through whatever preparations she could think of doing when someone was visiting. She cleaned the house, made a phone call and cleaned some more to pass the time until someone finally knocked on the heavy metal security door Dresden had installed. Tension coiled in Willow's gut as she strode over to the door, took the wards down, and pulled it open. The vision in front of her seemed to be the cue for the giant vacuum cleaner hidden somewhere to suck all the air out of the air. Well, not literally, but close.

The girl who stood outside was... Willow knew she was staring, but she just couldn't bring herself to care. This must be Maeve, then, undisguised. Or perhaps, quite the opposite. Willow knew the Winter Lady was centuries old, but she looked like the lost Greek Goddess of jailbait. If there'd ever been one. Heck, knowing the greeks, it wasn't impossible.

She was tall-ish and lithe, with her hair pulled back into dreadlocks that shifted colours from left to right from glacial blue to sea green. A ridiculously tight t-shirt with the fabric stretched tight over her modest bosom bore the words 'No, it's not cold in here.' She'd cut the rest of the shirt off an inch or so below, baring a pale, flat stomach with a sapphire glinting at her belly button. Clearly not satisfied with her statement there, she also wore a pair of skin-tight dark blue leather pants that showed off her lean legs and hung low on her hips.

But her eyes - They were the same as the one she'd seen at Macanally's, cold and calculating, touched with just a hint of amusement. Maeve's mulberry-coloured lips spread in a slow wicked smile and the way her eyes roamed over Willow, made her worry that the Fairy Queens might have x-ray vision.

'Focus, dammit,' Willow chided herself. 'Remember what Lasciel said.'

"Please come in," she told the Fae, whose eyebrows rose at the statement. She walked in.

Willow didn't know if a Fairy Queen could violate a threshold and, if they could, how much power it would cost them. Odds seemed good that Maeve could do it and even without magic, she knew the Fae to be far stronger than normal human beings. Heck, even without superpowers of any kind, Willow was doubtful of her ability to defend herself in a physical confrontation. Her protection lay in traditions far more ancient than herself, or even Maeve. The rules and responsibilities between guest and host. Such things were as close to absolute law as one got with most of the spookier creatures of the supernatural world. Maeve walked past Willow and into the apartment, casually ignoring such trivial human nonsense as a personal bubble.

"So..." She said, eyes scanning the small space with clear distaste. "This is where the infamous Harry Dresden resides. Mother will be so disappointed."

"Right," Willow replied as casually as she knew how. She did not want a conversation regarding Maeve's mother, The Queen of Air and Darkness. That kind of stuff just couldn't end well. 

Maeve stretched lazily, arms outstretched above her head. The motion made her shirt rise just a little bit and was, overall, a wondrous display of curves and muscle. Willow stared helplessly for a couple of moments, then shook herself. 'Focus,' she reminded herself.

"Please have a seat."

She issued at the general area of the couch and the comfortable chair. Maeve inclined her head in thanks, picking the chair. Before Willow could take a seat of her own, there was a knock at the door.

"A threesome?" Maeve asked. "My my..."

Pretty sure she couldn't muster a response that would wipe the smirk off the Sidhe's face, Willow ignored the remark and opened the door. The man who stood there was a blessing in more ways than one. He had a harmless, bumbling look to him. Tall, overweight, with thinning hair though Willow doubted he had left his twenties. His presence quelled her libido pretty thoroughly.

"Hey Joe," she said, fishing out her wallet from her jeans pocket.

Joe stared right past her and to Maeve, who had turned the chair so that she could observe the interaction.

"Joe?" She asked, still without a response.

It was no good. Willow snatched the pizza out of his hands, which made him return enough attention to her to accept the money, then closed to door in his face. Maeve's face turned ashen when Willow put the pizza in front of her. Which was the point.

"Do you think me some lowly pixie whom you can bribe with mortal food, Wizard?" She asked, glaring. "Are you truly so foolish?"

Her anger was a palpable thing and Willow took a step back from it.

"No, of course not," she hurried to insist. "I just thought I'd be a good host. The food's freely given. Oh and drinks, too."

She went to the tiny alcove of a kitchen the apartment had, fetched two bottles of coke, cutlery and settled it all along with the pizzas on the living room table. She was just about to hand Maeve knife and fork when she realized what they were made of and almost desperately threw them into a corner. It seemed to amuse her guest, at any rate, who despite her previous statement was tearing into the pizza with her bare hands.

She made that look sexy too, of course. Damn the Sidhe and damn her hormones.

When she'd finished eating, Maeve licked her fingers, slowly, staring at Willow as she did. She held Willow's gaze as she rounded the table, settling astride her legs.

"We could always postpone business," she whispered, "and move straight to pleasure."

It was a tempting offer. So very tempting. Willow desperately wanted to pull Maeve closer. To hold her, kiss her and whatever else would follow but she wasn't stupid enough to fool herself that it would end in anything but disaster.

"Thanks for the offer," Willow managed to croak, "Maybe after you tell me why you're here."

Maeve's wanton expression turned into a pout, but she didn't move.

"What did you want and why do you think I would want to do it?" Willow asked.

Maeve watched her silently for a moment.

"Very well," she said, her tone suddenly business-like. "I have a problem I would like for you to deal with. In return for your help, I shall give you back your friend, Buffy Summers."

 

Willow stared at the faerie. She must've heard it wrong.

"Uh - What?"

"Your little friend trespassed in places she had no business being and was taken my prisoner."

Buffy - imprisoned. Willow's mind went on a nightmarish tangent of shackles and her friend curled up in a small cold room surrounded by the cruel creatures of Winter.

"What do you want?" She asked.

"Many things," Maeve murmured, her smile predatory. "For now, though. There is a Red Court vampire who has been meddling with my interests in London. They are changelings and irrelevant enough that an outright rebuke is not warranted."

Her voice turned to frost.

"But nobody takes what is rightfully mine. I wish for you to infiltrate their group, destroy the vampire and bring the changelings out safe. Have you dealt with their kind before?"

Willow shook her head. Dresden had told her all about them, of course, and she'd done her part to research all that she could about them, but she’d never seen one for herself.

"Destroying the creature should be well within your ability." She looked at Willow, her face a neutral mask. "Do you accept?"

Make sure. She had to make sure. Ascertain that Maeve wasn't trying to hide something within the deal. There had to be perfect clarity before she accepted anything.

"First," Willow said. "I want you to make sure that Buffy isn't hurt."

Maeve shrugged. "She has, thus far, been treated as courteously as any guest, apart from the fact that she is not free to leave."

"Okay. I don’t want her to be hurt, okay? By you or anyone else.”

"Done."

"When the vampire is dead, you'll leave Buffy to me..." A thought struck her and she hesitated as her stomach flipped. "And if I die, you'll return her to her home in Sunnydale."

Maeve considered her for a little while.

"I think I am going to enjoy dealing with you, little wizard. Done."

Willow nodded.

"I might need help getting there. I don't think taking a plane would be a good idea."

"Done."

"Then, under those - er - stipulations, I'll accept your deal. Buffy's freedom for killing the vampire and getting the changelings out."

Maeve's smile was wide enough to be just a little bit eerie.

"Agreed. I will pick you up this time tomorrow."

And in the space it took Willow to blink, Maeve was gone. Willow let her head fall back against the couch and closed her eyes.

"How're we pulling this off, Lasciel?" She asked. "I don't think I can kill a Red Court vampire."

Lasciel appeared next to her on the couch, her expression concerned.

"I have the utmost confidence in you, sweetie."

Willow groaned. "Thanks. That means the world to me."

Lasciel clucked her tongue. "Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit."

"Your face is the lowest form of wit."

"That makes no sense."

"Get used to it."

Willow spent the remainder of the day and evening packing and preparing whatever magical gizmos she thought might be of help.

As a result, she didn't have much to do the next day, but she'd always made a habit of being punctual to the point where she tended to be at least ten minutes early to any appointment. Considering what she was about to be taking on, she was skittish enough to be hours ahead of schedule. This, in the end, left her with nothing but a list of things to confirm she had already done.

She'd gotten holy water from Forthill, made sure her staff didn't have any nicks or dents in it, which it didn't. The enchantments were fine, too. She'd picked up about a dozen books and tried to read, but in the end, hadn't been able to focus.

"How about you go for that run you promised me?" Lasciel suggested, voice mild.

"I won't be able to walk properly for two days."

"You would if you kept doing it regularly."

Willow groaned. "I know - and I will. Soon as I've gotten Buffy out of this mess."

"Soon," Lasciel repeated, her smile a challenge. "I do believe I have heard that before."

"Fine, fine," Willow groused and rose from the couch. "I'll do it."

"Good girl," Lasciel said, giving Willow's hair a ghostly pat.

Cold showers usually sucked, particularly during the winter months. But as Willow stepped under the cold spray, she was thankful for its numbing effect. Her legs felt like lead and her lungs still burned. At least she hadn't thrown up this time, though her stomach reminded her that might still be up for debate. 

Maeve arrived like she had the previous day, though she'd brought a limo this time. Willow had to admit was kind of a treat to get to ride in one. The driver dropped them off at the local entrance to the ways, located by what used to be a meat processing factory.

Maeve parted the fabric of reality there with a flick of her hand, and led the way into the Nevernever. The lands of Winter were a lot like the creatures of Winter: Cold, beautiful and merciless. Willow pulled her coat tighter around her body. It wasn't really made for climate as cold as she was currently in, but on the upside, it was mostly bullet-proof and would be able to stand up to claws and whatnot of various nasties. With Maeve as an escort, that probably wouldn't turn out to be a problem, but it was comforting to know it all the same. Fortunately, the walk was a short one. Five minutes heading the opposite direction on the trail that led to the way to Edinburgh later and they'd arrived. Maeve made a gesture with her hand again, grabbed hold of Willow's arm and brought her though.

The shift from one world to the next was so sudden that it took Willow a moment to gain her bearings. She was standing in an alley leading out to a crowded street. The air was thick with the scent of food, the culinary delights of the world blending together into an indistinguishable but overall pleasant mix. Willow stood there for a moment, taking it all in.

Chicago was a big city and that alone had taken some getting used to after an upbringing in comparably tiny Sunnydale. The difference was the feeling in the pit of her stomach. She'd never been abroad, especially not alone. Well, there was Maeve, but she didn't really count. The youngest queen of the Unseelie guided Willow into the stream of people and led her along though as though she knew where she was heading. The street, which seemingly ran on forever, was lined with shops and restaurants of every possible variety. The hotel Maeve brought her to probably cost more a night than Harry's apartment did each month.

Maeve paid with some kind of credit card, which garnered a frown from the middle-age gentleman in a suit at the reception desk, but apparently worked just fine. They took the elevator up. Most of the time the stairs were a safer bet for a wizard, but with her legs already protesting at every step she took, Willow decide she was in a gambling mood. The elevator stopped at the third floor and the doors opened up smoothly and Willow hurried through them. She was unsure what the long-term results of standing that close to Maeve in a confined space, breathing in the heavenly scent of her perfume, would be. Nothing good, that much was certain.

The door to the room was the second to the right from the elevator and upon opening it, Willow understood what Maeve was up to. The large king-size bed. The air conditioning. The bathroom with the Jacuzzi and shower. The polished hardwood floor. All of it was a display of what Maeve offered should Willow decide to join her team. It wasn't a bad pitch. But what Willow wanted - what she needed - wasn't wealth or a fancy place. She needed power. Knowledge. Odds were good that Maeve could have offered her those, too, had she known that was what Willow sought. But she didn't and one corruptive influence was more than enough for Willow's tastes. Even so, there was no need to let the winter lady know her plan wasn't unfolding as planned.

"Nice place."

Maeve made a sound of vague agreement.

"Just one tiny question," Willow asked, "Where do I begin?"

In response, Maeve opened up the folder she'd brought along from the car, walked over to a table by the tall windows facing the busy commercial street below, and spread papers across its surface.  
There were two pictures, a young man and a young woman. They were in their early twenties, by Willow's estimation, and awfully pretty.

"The changelings?" She asked Maeve.

"Indeed."

Willow looked at the other papers. Whoever had done the digging on Maeve's behalf had been exceedingly thorough. It was almost disconcerting how much they'd been able to find out. There were pictures, several of them, ranging from early adolescence to adulthood. There were CV's, criminal records, grades and finally a one page essay, detailing their lives.

"Thanks," Willow said, looking up at Maeve again. With Lasciel's assistance, she'd probably be able to come up with some kind of plan to infiltrate the group. "This'll help loads."

Maeve nodded. 

"Very well. I advice you to make haste. The Red Court rarely keep their pets for long. Should you fail, your friend is going to be enjoying my hospitality for a long time."

Willow met the Winter Lady's uncaring eyes.

"I'll do it," she insisted quickly. Whatever anger the threat provoked was thoroughly drowned by anxiety and fear. "I'll do it as fast as I can, I promise."

The promise drew a smile from Maeve.

"Such an obedient little girl," she all but purred. Willow swallowed and instinctively took a step back and away. Maeve smirked.

“Are you afraid of me?” She asked, smoothly following her.

“I- I’m not sure,” Willow replied. It was the truth. Her feelings and emotions were mixed up and confused at the moment. Fear was probably somewhere in that mix, though she wasn’t sure it was predominant just now. “Should I be?”

The winter lady smiled enigmatically and pressed Willow until her back met the wall, moved in close and whispered in her ear.

“Yes… And no.” Her breath was cold and sweet against Willow’s ear. “It is wise to fear your betters, even if they do not wish you any particular harm.”

“I- I guess,” Willow stuttered, painfully aware of how quick her breathing was getting, of how flushed her cheeks were. Maeve trailed a finger along Willow’s cheek and down her throat and the silken smooth touch made her shiver.

“This is probably a bad idea,” Willow said. Why did her voice have to sound so feeble?

“Is it?” She asked without a trace of worry. Her hand proceeded to the neckline of Willow’s jumper, then skipped down to her stomach, tracing upwards at the same slow pace. “Are you quite certain?”  
Willow’s response turned into a whimper as Maeve’s hands pushed her bra aside. Her touch was surprisingly gentle.

“Yeah,” Willow said, finding the will somewhere to snag Maeve’s hands and pull them off her. She was lying, of course. There wasn’t anything she’d rather do than go through the doubtlessly complicated process of unlacing the winter lady’s ridiculously tight leather pants. To let Maeve teach her things she didn’t even have the words to describe yet. But as much as she wanted it, as much as every fibre of her body ached for it, she knew it would end badly.

For a moment, no more than a second, something flashed across the winter lady’s features. Defiance and hunger, uncaring and unrestrained. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone.

“I’m sure we’ll get a chance to pick up where we left this off soon enough,” she said, her voice low and measured. “Call one me once the task is done.”

Then, in a gust of wind, Maeve was gone. She had not been gone for more than a second or two when Lasciel appeared at the spot she had previously occupied.

"I suppose it could have gone worse," the fallen angel said. Her tone was melodramatic, but her smile teasing. Willow scowled at her, though there wasn’t any conviction behind it.

"I did okay," she protested. "Still got my clothes on and my own free will. Yay me?"

Lasciel rolled her eyes.

"You're still thinking about the pixie tarts ass."

Willow felt a guilty flush creep up her throat. "Yeah, well- Those pants- Hang on. Are you jealous?"  
Lasciel gave her a patronizing look.

"We'd best get to work, sweetie, if are to save your friend." She issued at the files spread across the table. "When we're done for the day, we could try out the Jacuzzi. I'm sure you'll enjoy that."

Willow glanced at the large tub through the open bathroom door and her sore muscles screamed their approval of the idea.

"Okay. I think I need a pen.. and a notepad.. and a map?"

"Indeed. One of the city and one of the underground. The reception might have them."

Willow took a deep breath. "Alright. Let's begin."

Research and preparations- no - scheming. She and Lasciel schemed for the rest of the day. They singled out the girl as the 'target' and decided that Willow would approach her at the coffee-shop where she worked. If she did things right, she’d get a shot at infiltrating the group and scout things out, as opposed to rushing in, staff blazing.

***

It had been months and months since Willow had last enjoyed a hot bath. It was just as gloriously relaxing as she’d remembered. Particularly to her aching muscles, which all but cried out in relief. She let her head fall back against the edge of the tub and her eyes drifted shut as the water slowly rose.

"Feeling better, sweetie?" Lasciel asked.

"Loads," Willow murmured. She opened her eyes half-way and the sight before her made them widen. Lasciel sat at the opposite side of the sizable tub, her modesty only barely preserved by the foamy bubbles Willow had added. A suggestive smile turned up the fallen angel's gorgeous pink lips ever so slightly.

"I thought you might."

Willow swallowed.

"Uh. Y-You're naked."

"And you're observant," Lasciel noted dryly. Willow tried not to stare, she really did, but despite her best efforts, her eyes soon drifted to the upper swell of Lasciel's breasts.

"Uh- Wow. This is... Why are you naked?"

The look directed at her in response suggested she was an imbecile.

"One usually is, when taking a bath."

"Oh. Yeah, that kinda makes sense."

Lasciel's gaze was direct, challenging. Willow felt herself shiver, despite the hot water. It was just getting to be too much. First Maeve, with her damn leather pants and supernatural levels of hotness and now Lasciel seemed to be intent on driving her bonkers. She really shouldn't have expected anything else from a fallen angel, of course. Particularly not one who was commonly referred to as The Temptress.

"Do you want some alone time?" Lasciel asked.  
Lasciel had always been very good about boundaries and whenever Willow had felt she needed time entirely to herself, for whatever purpose, she'd gotten it.

"Or..." Lasciel said, her voice a sultry whisper as she rose a fraction of an inch higher in the tub. "I could stay."

Willow clenched her hands harder on her leg to make sure they didn't do any moving without her say-so even as a shuddery half-moan of a breath escaped her lips.

"Why?"

"Because all my perceptions must come from you and I would very much like to share this with you."

Gulp. One part of her, probably the part responsibly for making her hands move several inches up her thighs, thought it was a great idea. But it just wasn't the kind of thing that could end well. Lasciel had never been anything but polite and helpful, but if she was as innocent as she seemed, then Willow rather doubted she'd fallen from grace in the first place. But most of all, some naive and stupid still wanted to wait for Buffy to come to her senses, tell her that she was all over boys and life happily ever after.

"Some day, maybe," Willow said. "Could you give me some time?"

"Of course." A moment later, her presence was gone. Willow leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

***

Though she'd felt exhausted as she dragged herself out of the bathtub, by the time she'd gotten under the covers of the ridiculously comfortable bed, sleep proved elusive. Seeing as there wasn't much to be done about the matter, Willow just lay there, staring up at the ceiling.

"Are you alright, honey?" Lasciel asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

"Mm-hmm," Willow responded. Maybe she should try counting sheep or something?

"Are you frightened?" Was she? Not yet. Not for herself. She hadn't really considered the part of the plan where she'd have to kill a Red Court vampire of unknown capabilities. Though now that she did, fear joined in with anxiety. Stupid brain. Lasciel touched her shoulder and even if it wasn't real, the sensation calmed her down just a little.

"You are going to get through this. Don't worry. Now close your eyes."

Willow did as suggested and tried her best to relax.

"Could you tell me a story?"

Lasciel's answer took a bit longer than expected, as if the question had taken her by surprise.

"Aren't you a little bit too old for that?" She asked, teasing scepticism in her voice.

Willow frowned. "Aren't you a few million years too old to be perving on me?" She shot back. 

Lasciel laughed, a genuine belly laugh accompanied by a smile that literally illuminated the room.

"Touché," she said, voice still bubbling with mirth. “A story it is.”

She cleared her throat

"In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit..."

***

Willow awoke to early morning sunlight and the feeling of soft, strong fingers running through her hair. She lay there with her eyes closed for a while, basking in the sensation and wishing she didn’t have to get up.

"Morning, Lasciel," she murmured sleepily.

"Morning. Are you ready to face the day?"

Willow stretched out under the sheets, then glanced at the clock by the bedside. It was time to get going. Well, almost. Willow wasn't much of a breakfast person. Most days, she would have preferred a bit of toast and a cup of tea. Unfortunately, Lasciel and the British seemed to agree that a sturdy breakfast was the way to start the day. The food seemed to be included into the price on paid for the room and Willow eyed the menu dubiously with Lasciel observing over her shoulder.

"French fries? For breakfast? That's just wrong. Evil, even."

"Some bacon, perhaps?" Lasciel suggested. Willow didn't turn her head in order to scowl at Lasciel now that they were in public, but she was pretty sure the sentiment was clear regardless.

"I'm Jewish."

The fallen angel snorted.

"I happen to know for a fact that God does not care whether humans eat pigs."

Willow really didn't know what to say to that. Screw it. She might as well give it a shot. Maybe she'd get real rebellious and celebrate Christmas this year.

***

London, it turned out, had a lot of Starbucks coffee shops spread out across the city and Willow spotted several before making it to her destination. That particularly Starbucks was situated on the second floor of a large clothes store. The escalator broke down half-way up and Willow walked the rest of the way up, a guilty flush rising up her throat. So maybe she was a little nervous. Just a little. She wasn't exactly James Bond... Or whoever was his female equivalent. There really should be a female bond...  
By the time Willow arrived at the coffeeshop, there was already a long line present and she moved to the back. At least she'd have some time to calm down. 

"Relax," Lasciel said, her voice quiet and soothing. "You are getting a cup of coffee, nothing more. Be polite and leave them a tip. That is all you need to do for now."

Willow took a deep breath. Okay. Coffee. She'd ordered that before. Not with the intent of infiltrating a vampire-worshipping cult, perhaps, but it wasn't like she was about the storm the black gates of Mordor, either. The man in front of her, in his poorly fitting suit, ordered a cappuccino and moved on.

Don't screw up, don't screw up... Buffy needs you not to screw up. That thought, more than any previous, galvanized her to calm down and step forward.

"Uh. Hi! A cup of coffee- I mean mocha, please."

"Smooth," Lasciel remarked. Willow paid for her drink, tipped generously while she was at it, and took a seat as close to the two barristas currently at work as she could. Over the course of the next hour, the flow of customers slowly dwindled and the staff got bored. Willow ordered herself another coffee while she waited and slice of pie to go with it. 

By the time changeling Sarah made a round through the small shop, asking for refills, Willow had gotten out a notepad and was sketching on it. Or more accurately, she was letting Lasciel direct her hand. On her own, she'd be hard pressed to pull off stick figures. But with a little help from her friend, she could do some really impressive things.

Sarah glanced at Willow, then the drawing and came to a halt. She stared at the sketch of Thomas Raith for a few moments, then said.

"Wow. That's really good. Do you know the guy?"

Willow nodded, managing not to blush at the praise only because the work really wasn't her own.

"Friend of a friend."

"Damn," Sarah muttered with awe in her voice. "You're lucky."

"He's even better looking in real life, if you can believe it."

Sarah grinned, the expression pleasantly human on her almost inhumanly beautiful features.

"I can't, actually," she said, though the tone of her voice wasn't challenging.

Willow raised an eyebrow. "Kinda got this bad-boy vibe going, too. Oh, and he's rich."

Her words were met with a pout that Willow judged to be playful. "Is he American, too?"

"Yepp," Willow said. She wasn't entirely sure about where Thomas Raith had been born, or lived out his life, nor where his family originated from, but at least it meant she wouldn't have to arrange any meeting between the two. "Sorry."

Sarah smiled, turned to go, and then paused. "Do you think you could draw me sometime?"

"Like one of my french girls?" Willow asked, before she could stop herself. Oh dear God. Harry had taught her many things, but not to make weird jokes at inappropriate times was not among them.

"Relax," Lasciel said. "Your little joke worked but if you act strangely, it will become awkward."

Fortunately, Sarah had an infectious grin and Willow found herself more or less naturally joining in.

"Not what I had in mind," the changeling said and laughed. "No offense, but you're not exactly Leo."

Willow laughed nervously. "None taken."

"So?" Sarah pressed. "Do you think you'll be able to?"

"Set a deadline for Monday," Lasciel instructed her firmly.

"As long as it's soon-ish," Willow said. "I'm leaving on Monday."

Sarah gave it a moment's thought, looked at her friend, who was helping an old lady carry her order to a table, then back to Willow.

"We were planning on getting sloshed tonight, maybe go to a club or something, if you'd like to come."

“Cool,” Willow said, grinning. “When and where?”

***

Waking up up the next morning sucked. It sucked a lot. If she'd had a blunt instrument and trusted her aim, which hadn't and didn't, Willow would probably have clubbed herself unconscious. She was still in the outfit Lasciel had talked her into the other night, black leather pants shirt unbuttoned far enough to show the cleavage her bra the illusion she had. Her head was pounding painfully in time with her heartbeat. Her mouth felt uncomfortably dry and tasted of ash and her stomach was twisting in nausea. The room was dimly lit, a small mercy, and the first thing Willow noted about it was that she didn't recognise it. Seriously, where was she? It was not her hotel room, nor was it Sarah's apartment, where the evening had begun.

She lay in a leather couch in a large living room, using the arm-rest for a pillow. The room was devoid of decorations. No plants, paintings or pictures of family members. There was a modern TV (probably a telly, now that she was in Britain) and a large table in one corner. Willow spotted Sarah in one of the ornate wooden chairs and waved weakly.

"Lasciel," she thought. "What happened last night?"

The answer came promptly, though it was half a yawn. "You had too much to drink."

Willow rubbed her forehead and tried to take slow steadying breaths.

"Thanks, I never would've guessed."

"I could tell you about last night's events, but it should be postponed until later as you are about to vomit in thirteen seconds."

"What?" Willow asked in alarm and a moment later, her stomach performed a summersault of warning.

"Eleven," Lasciel said.

Willow got to her feet, stumbled, but managed to recover her balance. She was still wearing the stupid high heels from the other night. She made it into the bathroom and only just managed to fall painfully to her knees on the tiled floor before her stomach declared revolt on the previous night's activities and she threw up violently. Trust tequila to get even more disgusting somehow.

"I'm never drinking again," she thought to Lasciel. "Never. Not a drop."

"I do believe that is a promise I have heard others make, sweetie."

Willow would've told her something acidic, but her stomach heaved again and the retort was lost in the process. Someone held her hair back this time and by the time Willow felt she was done, Sarah was there to help her to her feet.

They moved over the sink and Willow quickly rinsed her mouth. She located some toothpaste and used her fingers for a toothbrush, which helped. It wasn't until she was done that she actually paid any attention to her own reflection and the sight made her stare. Her make-up was a smudged disaster and there was lipstick on her lips and neck. Which was odd, seeing as she hadn't worn any. Sarah's stepped in behind her, a smug grin on her face. She said something... or rather, her lips moved as though she did, but Willow couldn't hear any words. Confused, she turned around. There was a puzzled expression on the changelings face as well and she tried again. Again, no sound.

"I think you've hurt your throat," Willow said. Or tried to say. Like with Sarah, no sound escaped her lips. Okay. What the hell?

"This is unsettling," Lasciel said, voice thoughtful.

"You don't say," Willow thought back at her, panic rising. She returned her attention Sarah and mouthed, with exaggerated enunciation.

“What – is – going – on?”

Sarah shrugged. They walked out the bathroom door and Willow froze in her tracks. There was a girl on the sofa. Someone she didn't know and hadn’t noticed upon waking up. She turned to Sarah to see if she had any light to shed on the situation and the changeling smirked, pointed from the girl to Willow, then pantomimed sloppy kissing. It took a couple of seconds before the painfully obvious message sunk in.

"Lasciel," she thought. "Could you show me what happened last night? The highlights?"

The sensation was violent and invasive and somehow squeezed into the space of a couple of seconds of flashing memories. The first was the last one Willow could recall. She could see herself, Sarah and her two friends, downing tequila shots an hour and a half into the night. The next showed her talking half walking, half stumbling down the stairs with the rest, laughing at some joke. The next memory was blurry, like whoever had been doing the filming used a really bad camera. It showed Willow walking past the guard at a club, assuring him that none of her friends were among the droids he was looking for.  
How she'd got into the place after that, she had no idea, but the next memory was there, dancing. Then she was at the bar, talking excitedly to the blonde girl now decked out on the couch, then leading her out to the dance-floor.

Dancing followed. A lot of dancing. Which would explain why, now that she was standing up, her legs were once more killing her. The club seemed to grow more crowded, or at least the dance-floor did, and dancing closer seemed pretty practical. Somewhere over the night, the dancing segued into something that could only be accurately described as grinding. By the time Sarah reappeared, they were in a sofa, in a dark corner, doing things that explained why Willow had lipstick and hickeys all over her throat. She pulled the both of them up, shouting to be heard over the music about kebab and an after-party, which at the time seemed like a good idea.

"Nothing more of significance occurred past that point," Lasciel said. "You passed out the moment you got to the couch."

Willow grimaced and looked closer at the girl.

She was cute rather than pretty, with inky black hair that struck Willow as a dye job, reaching her pointy chin. Her skin was pale, made more so by make-up, though that could also be to cover up a small amount of acne. Her eyes were… gray? They were closed at the moment and Willow for the life of her couldn’t remember. Gray-ish. Probably. There was a sound from the other side of the room, accompanied by a cold greasy sensation pushing against Willow’s arcane senses. The nausea immediately returned, but was quickly drowned out by fear when she looked up and realized what the source of the disturbance was: A red court vampire. 

Looked at from a certain point of view, it was fascinating how perfect the flesh mask disguised the truly horrid creature that lay beneath it. It looked like a man. Six feet tall and some change, dark complected and broad shouldered. His white wife-beater showed off muscular arms. Sometime, when she wasn’t in mortal peril, she’d have to ask Lasciel just how it all worked.

“Relax,” the fallen angel urged her. “He cannot tell you are anything but another human.”

Sarah clearly didn’t know what lurked beneath the surface. She crossed the room in five long strides and wrapped her arms around his (or was “it’s” more appropriate?) shoulders. They kissed and Sarah pressed her body close to his as though she wanted to crawl inside the flesh mask with him. Willow could tell when the venom took hold. The kiss deepened and changed into something passionate and almost desperate. They parted and Sarah looked a lot like – Willow blushed- She looked rather like she’d just had the best sex of her life. There was a slow languid quality to the way she held herself and in her lazy smile.

The vampire’s eyes fell on Willow, gauging and interesting, but not hostile. Yet.

“Relax,” Lasciel advised her again. “Wake the girl. She’ll be a very good excuse for being nervous. The vampire is unlikely to stay for long unless you stand out.”

Willow cast another glance at the vampire, noting how he still stared at her. She was about to turn towards the girl, but before she could, the light bulb overhead flickered, then went out. A second later, Sarah’s cell phone began blaring drunkenly and died a messy death in a shower of sparks as she pulled it out of her pocket.

The vampire’s eyes widened, settled on Willow’s with recognition and understanding in them, and then turned black, the colouring expanding until there was nothing but darkness left. Something writhed and moved underneath his skin and he opened his mouth in an entirely silent snarl to expose elongated fangs. Oh boy. She was never, ever drinking again. Seriously.

Willow jumped up off the couch without even consciously deciding to do so, at the exact same moment as Lasciel barked. “Up! Get to the Window!”

There were about six feet of floor space to cross to get there for Willow and about twice that for the vampire. On most days, that would’ve ended up with her being exsanguinated. But to get to Willow, the vamp had to clear Sarah out of the way, something he didn’t seem to be willing to risk hurting her to accomplish. 

It bought Willow about a second, during which she made it to the window and pulled hard at the blinds. The vampire skidded to a halt mid-way across the room, realizing he wasn’t going to be fast enough. It preserved Willow’s life for another few moments, because the blinds stubbornly refused to budge.

Willow instinctively turned her head around in time to see the vampire gather himself in a leap and sent her will out in an invisible curtain of force in his general direction. The spell worked without any spoken incantation, as she knew it would. It also feedbacked on her, as she knew it would. She hadn’t expected it to hurt quite that bad, though. She had a brief impression of the vampire being flung off his feet and fifteen feet across the room before ten miniature scalpels cut into her brain in searing agony that literally blinded her.

She turned, felt her way along the wall until the found the blinds, and tore at them with desperate strength. Something gave and she tumbled down to the floor along with the blinds. She still couldn’t see the sun, but felt it caress the back of her neck with its warmth. Crouched up in a little ball on the floor, whimpering and trembling, she heard the vampire make an inhuman sound of pain before crashing through what sounded like the bathroom door and shutting it.

The agony of the magical backlash faded slowly and her ability to see things returned, even if the world had been reduced to a blur. She pushed herself up on all fours, then to her feet. Standing upright clearly wasn’t a good idea. Her headache mounted to nearly unbearable levels again and a moment later, her stomach heaved and she threw up all over her shoes. Some wizard she was. Her stomach kept on twisting and heaving well after there was nothing left to expel.

“You need to leave, honey,” Lasciel voice whispered, as though near her ear. “I know it hurts, but you need to move - immediately.”

Willow gritted her teeth against the pain and got to her feet again, grabbing on to the back of the couch to maintain her balance. The girl – dear God, she didn’t even remember her name – was awake and she stared at Willow. Her mouth was moving and even if no sound was produced, the panic was evident on her face. Willow gave her shoulder a light shove, and then pointed in the direction where the door had to be. The girl blinked, her expression befuddled.

Willow repeated the gesture, mouthing “Come on!”

Finally, the girl complied, though Willow more or less had to drag her along. That proved a problem when she realized that Sarah was heading for the bathroom, in which the vampire would be lurking. She couldn’t have that. If she was deemed a threat, the vampire would no doubt react with immediate and lethal force. She didn'tknow where changeling number two was, but if she lost half of them, odds were good Maeve would return her half of Buffy.

“Lasciel. I need power.” She had but to say the words and the wish was granted. Strength surged through her body, leaving her toes and fingers tingling, washing away most of the fatigue. She caught on to Sarah’s hand a moment before it reached the door handled and jerked her back without any trouble. Sarah was taller than her and possessed of the same natural fitness that came natural to the Sidhe. But she was only human – for now – and with Lasciel’s aid, Willow pulled her towards the hallway as easily as one might an unruly five-year-old.

She waved her hand at the other girl, whose name she really had to get at some point and the display of strength seemed to be enough motivation for her to follow.

The hallway outside was small. To the left, there was an open door leading to a bedroom, dark enough for Willow to assume the windows were blocked out by something. The only thing she could spot was a large bed, its red satin sheets illuminated by a lava lamp on a small table beside it. It looked really tacky, but that was neither here nor there.

Straight ahead was the kitchen, a small room, which seemed untouched for the most part. To the right was the door leading out. Willow undid the numerous security chains that had been installed and they made their way down several stairs and finally, out into the bright sunlight.

Willow let go of Sarah, who’d ceased struggling, and leaned up against the wall outside the apartment building’s entrance, closing her eyes, breathing slowly. It wasn’t until she opened them again that she realized something was terribly wrong. London had thus far seemed like a bustling city, but things were different now. People were running around. Cars were parked in the middle of the street, some idling with passengers in them. At an intersection ahead, several had crashed. Horns were honked repeatedly and there was a lot of fist-waving, but no shouting.

“Lasciel… What kind of magic would it take to make the whole place mute?”

“If it is indeed the entire city, then it is magic far beyond the capabilities of any mortal practioner. There is a newspaper kiosk to your right, go see what the headlines say – and get some chewing gum, your breath stinks.”

Willow made sure her companions followed her along, then walked over. She hadn’t even read the first paper before Lasciel spat a word that probably was a curse in the angelic tongue. She read for herself and soon found out that there had been several grisly murders where the victim’s hearts had been removed as well as a city-wide case of laryngitis.

“What does that mean, Lasciel?” She asked, eyeing her surrounding cautiously, as if a slobbering monster might be hiding behind the bearded old man selling the newspapers.

The fallen angel took a few moments before answering. It was the first time Willow had ever heard worry in her voice.

“They most commonly known by mortals as The Gentlemen.”

Willow frowned, searching her memory and coming up with zip.

“I haven’t heard of them. What are they?”

Lasciel’s next words were tainted with disgust. “They are creatures of the realms that border on Perdition, vile creatures that feed on mortal despair. And hearts, of course.”

“Dangerous?” Willow asked nervously, aware of the fact that if she was to do any vampire slaying, she’d need her voice back. Presumably, to do so, she’d have to tangle with whatever The Gentlemen happened to be.

“Yes,” Lasciel said. “They are very dangerous. Ordinarily, I would advise you to avoid them.”

Willow glanced sideways to check on her tag-alongs. Sarah stood leant up against the wall, looking dazed and somewhat lost. It bothered Willow, seeing someone as strong as Sarah reduced to a submissive wreck. That said, she couldn’t deny that it was a lot simpler shepherding her around as opposed to dragging her around.

“Ordinarily?” Willow asked, even as the other girl – J… The name was something beginning with J- came up to her.

Jennifer – no, that wasn’t it – raised a hand to Willow’s face, touched her cheek with warm fingers and then held the hand out. There was blood on them. She’d left blood in the apartment. The girl’s eyes filled with worry in response to the dread Willow couldn’t hide. One of these days she’d learn how to do a proper poker face. She mouthed a few words that seemed to be “Are you OK?”

Willow nodded shakily, her mind busy elsewhere. You never left your blood behind for anyone to swipe. That was one of the first things any wizard learned. As long as someone had that blood fresh, they also had a thaumaturgic connection to the person who had shed it. That meant they could throw magic at you from Manchester and there’d be nothing you could do about it.

“What about if I set up a circle?”

“Red Court vampires can use the blood to track you as long as it is fresh. It is not merely thaumaturgy. A circle might delay it, but it will not stop it.”

Willow frowned as she thought.

“What if I get behind a threshold?”

“Then the vampire burns the house down and waits outside,” Lasciel responded promptly.

“Which would be bad,” Willow noted. She’d have to get her voice back first, without magic, and then handle the vampire - Preferably before the sun set.

“Soo… How do I stop ‘em?”

“In the parts of the Nevernever these creatures come from, this spell is permanent, a part of the landscape, so to speak. They maintain it here in the mortal world through the use of a focus, a wooden box.”

An image flashed through Willow’s mind, showing a small box of a dark polished wood, carved with unsettling designs she couldn’t make any sense of.

“Their magic will be poured into powering the spell, but even without that power, there are very dangerous. You will have to reach the box and destroy it, then scream. It will destroy the creatures and their servitors.”

The prospect of destroying them brought a predatory tone to Lasciel’s voice, a sense of dark satisfaction that frightened Willow almost as much as it intrigued her.

“Where do we start?” She wondered. “I don’t even know where to find them.”

“Fortunately,” Lasciel said, “I do.”

***

“I’ve always wanted to go here,” Willow said to Lasciel, staring upwards at the vast structure ahead. “I guess the circumstances could’ve been better, but still, neat.”

Lasciel made a soft noise that seemed to indicate agreement. Jessica, or at least that had been the name on the note the girl had put in Willow's hand along with a phone number, had departed. They’d made a stop at the hotel room on the way to leave Sarah there under a sleep spell. It was edging pretty close to breaking one of the laws of magic, but as long as it remained a suggestion rather than a compulsion, she’d be in the clear.

Ahead of her, Big Ben loomed three hundred feet and then some high over the streets of London as it had done for almost 150 years. The actual clock tower was named the Elizabeth tower, according to Lasciel, and was probably the most famous landmark the city had to boast.

She was lucky there weren’t any security present as she tried to make her way up towards the actual clock tower where the bell for which it was most commonly named, rested. Then again, the fact that there was no elevator did cancel most of that out.

Climbing hundreds of feet of stairs sucked. Willow had to stop twice to rest, once at the middle and once at the very top of the stairs. Once she trusted her legs to work properly, more or less anyways, she went up to the bell tower. 

The creatures were humanoid, but definitely not human. Even from forty feet away, Willow could feel the energy pouring off them like body heat, cold, greasy and-

“Evil?” Lasciel suggested. “The word applies to those – things.” She spat the last word with obvious disgust.

Willow had to agree with her. If ever there was something that was evil, this was it. The feeling of proximity to a red court vampire didn’t even compare. She looked more closely at them. They all wore the same black suit, all of them seemingly tailor-made to fit their vaguely differing sizes. Their skin was sheet white, almost greyish, the way you’d otherwise only find on corpses or people who took their alternative life-styles way too seriously, and pulled taut over their skulls.

They all stood absolutely still, eyes closed, in a circle around a small table. Upon that table, was a carved wooden box. They weren’t exactly sleeping, but it was the best way Lasciel had managed to describe it. The key point being, that as long as she didn’t make a lot of noise, they would not notice her. At least that was the theory she was working on.

Willow slowly walked closer, horribly aware of how the floorboards made tiny squeaking noises every so often when she stepped on them. She slowed down even more, carefully judging where to place her feet before doing so. It wasn’t entirely silent, but fortunately, as far up as she was in the clock tower, the wind drowned out the most of it. As she got closer, the psychic stench of The Gentlemen grew stronger, pushing down on her senses like a heavy blanket. She misjudged her next step and the floorboard protested creakily under her foot.

Willow froze. She was less than three yards away and had her staff ready. Though the circle of monsters around the table wasn’t too close for her to slip through, there just wasn’t any way she’d dare to do that. Fortunately, she had her staff. It was four feet long and heavy oak, which would be more than enough for her to smash the stupid box, and its magic-protection carvings, to kindling without having to get too close.

The air around The Gentlemen was cold. Cold enough that Willow could see her breathing steam in front of her as she took the last step she’d need to get close enough. Her foot came down silently on the floorboard and she adjusted her balance, raising her staff above her head with both hands, to bring it down with all her strength and whatever Lasciel could lend her. 

And then something grabbed her by the waist from behind. There was a moment of confused disorientation and then her back hit the dusty floorboards with a solid thud that knocked the wind out of her. She struggled to get free, but before she’d even realized she was on the floor, her arms and legs were being held down by firmly. She kicked and thrashed for another few moments before realizing there was no point to it and tried to assess the situation instead.

Whatever had caught her off guard wasn’t one of the gentlemen. It was also humanoid, though its face was marked with ritually applied scars that, more than anything, seemed to be applied by a scalpel. It wore a straightjacket, torn so that it had the function of its arms, and non-descript clothing underneath that. 

She tried again to jerk her limbs out of the thing’s grasp, but the hands that held her were like iron manacles and had all the leverage. Worst of all – The Gentlemen seemed to have woken up. They turned to her in unison and for a few moments simply stood there, observing her. Then they smiled, with the same eerie synchronicity, lips peeling back from cruel metal teeth, and slowly spread around her in a circle.

Willow’s eyes flitted from the things keeping her down to the creatures closing in on her. There was no way out. Even if she managed to get free, somehow, she was surrounded. It took a while for the thought to really sink in. There was no way out. She was going to die. Lasciel appeared, as if straddling her waist, leaning over so that her long blonde hair obscured most of the rest of the world.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” she whispered in a soft voice. “Don’t look at them. Look at me.”

Even as she said it, though, Lasciel’s image flickered into translucency, and Willow could see The Gentlemen behind her. One held out a scalpel to the other with a polite ‘You go ahead’ gesture. The second nodded his thanks and accepted the sharp implement graciously. It knelt next to Willow and slowly, carefully, cut open her shirt. Her heart. It was going to cut out her heart. Panic overwhelmed her and Willow began to struggle again even though she knew that it was futile.

“Look at me!” Lasciel repeated, this time more forcefully. Once more, her projection gained a more solid shape, blocking out the horror behind her. 

“It will not hurt. I promise. Don’t be afraid.”

It was the first time Willow had heard Lasciel sound afraid. She was good to her word, though. The headache from the hangover faded. The lingering nausea went second, followed shortly by the aches she’d built up over days. It was strange, not to feel anything at all, but she’d probably be grateful of it soon.

“I don’t wanna die.”

Lasciel’s eyes filled with tears. She blinked, repeatedly, but it didn't stop them from running down her cheeks.

“I know, sweetie. I know. Don’t be afraid. It’ll be over soon and you’ll be somewhere better.”

Because Lasciel was blocking pain out, she couldn’t actually feel it when it happened. But when the head of one of creatures holding her down landed on her stomach, it was pretty clear something had changed.

Lasciel promptly vanished and Willow tried to regain a sense of what the hell was happening. The clock tower, previously dimly lit, was now bathed in a silvery light from somewhere behind her.

The hands holding her wrists were gone and the ones gripping her ankles had slackened. She lashed out with a kick at the thing, as hard as she could. Bones crunched as she hit its sternum with both feet. She scrambled to her feet, but was forced to dive to the floor again to dodge a scalpel being swept down towards her jugular. It clipped her forehead and bit down hard, but Willow kept going, on her hands and knees, towards the source of silver light. It was a man. He was tall, almost as tall as Harry. But where Harry was built like a runner, thin and lean, this guy was built more like an action hero in his prime.

His teeth gleamed white in contrast to his dark skin as he grinned and stalked forwards. The source of the silvery light was a sword, a heavy sabre. She’d never met the man, but there were only three such swords in the world and he fitted Harry’s description for Sanya, Knight of the cross.

The Gentlemen spread out, keeping well away from the light of the holy blade. Willow managed to make her way to the knight’s feet and only then did she feel safe enough to take a moment to rise.  
The knights of the cross held incredible power, but they were not superhuman. It wouldn’t take much for any of the creatures in the clock tower to kill him, if they landed a hit.

There were nine Gentlemen present and two living goons, all around them in a loose circle. If all of monsters went at them at the same time, there’d be little they could do to stop it, even with divine intervention. There were three Gentlemen blocking the way to the box and if Sanya engaged them, the others would take him down from behind. Which meant it was up to her. Somehow.

“Lasciel. I need to blast them down. Can I do it? You know, without my head exploding and stuff.”

There was a moment’s delay, then the fallen angel responded.

“It may hurt you. I do not think it will leave you permanently damage, though, and I believe you’ll agree that it is preferable to dying.”

She couldn’t argue with that. Willow focused on the little wooden box, five yards away. Because of the wards on it, she couldn't touch it with magic. That meant she needed to move The Gentlemen and do it the old-fashioned way.

Nothing to do but to try. Willow focused on a point in between the cluster of nightmarish creatures guarding the box. She drew in her will, calling upon all her fear, her desire to live and poured it into the spell. Then she added hellfire. All the hellfire she could draw in. All of that, she projected to that spot, eight feet in front of her. There was a small pulse of sullen red light at first, the size of a tennis ball.

It was sloppy spell work - Very sloppy, in fact. Projecting the spell took extra energy and about half of the power sloshed away on the way. The demons drained a lot of it away too, their mere presence a magic-eating vacuum of some sort. That left, perhaps, twenty percent of the power she’d poured into it. Sheesh. If she’d done it better, she probably would’ve blown the entire place, herself included, to hell. 

As it was... The red light pulsed again and then exploded outwards, the shockwave knocking The Gentlemen and their servitors away.

The pain should have driven Willow to her knees, but Lasciel’s block held and she stumbled forwards. She raised her staff above her head and slammed it down on the box, which broke under the weight of the blow with a satisfying crunch.

She turned to see Sanya engaged in actual fighting with the Gentlemen and holding his ground, for now, though that couldn’t last. One, though, was heading for Willow, scalpel gleaming. All in all, it wasn’t hard to find the motivation to scream. The result was instantaneous and terribly messy. The Gentlemen’s heads and those of the goons too, simply exploded in a shower of grey gore and a stench of rotten eggs. Willow had thought she’d be done puking for the day, but apparently not. The pain of the feedback was twice as bad as the last time and she staggered to behind the table where she threw up until she blacked out.

Consciousness returned as a warm, calloused hand touched her shoulder. She accepted a helping hand to get to her feet, wobbled a little, but retained her balance and blinked until her eyes focused on the man in front of her. It was only then that she realized her current predicament. She might not be an actual knight of the blackened denarius, but that was a mere technicality. She was precisely the kind of thing the knights were given their powers to combat.

Willow edged back a step, then another and the knight’s eyebrows rose with obvious amusement. His gaze drifted lower and Willow felt her cheeks heat up. As she tried to cover up the black lacy bra Lasciel had convinced her to buy with the tattered remains of her shirt, she realized that the knight wasn’t looking at her breasts. He was looking at the coin dangling between them in an improvised necklace.

“Lasciel, da?” He said, his deep voice bearing a heavy Russian accent.

Willow nodded, eyes flicking around for possible escape routes. But unless she wanted to try skydiving, Sanya was blocking the only route leading out of there. Aeromancy did sound pretty nifty. Maybe she should check that out at some point?

"Focus," Lasciel muttered in annoyance. Oh, yeah. Things were happening.

“Yeah.” Her voice sounded raw, but at least it worked. “Does- Does it matter?”

“Perhaps.” He considered her for a moment and Willow carefully avoided his eyes. Then, apparently reaching some sort of conclusion, he returned his sword to its sheath.

Willow expected a sermon of some sort. Some big speech meant to convert her. Instead, the big Russian said.

“You are hurt.”

Willow forced herself not to flinch as he brushed her fringe away from her forehead. He seemed genuinely worried, though, and not at all like he was about to smite her.

“Do not forget,” Lasciel murmured, voice tinted with dark amusement, “That the noble knights strive to save you from the wicked influence of the fallen, not to kill you.”

Willow attempted the fix Sanya with a glare. He didn’t look impressed. In fact, his face broke out in a broad grin. Damn it all. She really needed to work on her glaring skills.

“I’m not giving you the coin,” she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking.

Sanya shrugged.

“One day I think you will give it to me - but not today. It is fine."

Willow felt some of the tension leave her shoulders.

“Okay,” she said. “Uhm- How come you’re here?”

The knight pointed a finger skywards along with a significant look. Oh boy. She knew that the knights were more or less guided by God or one of the archangels, to wherever they needed to be. She wasn’t really sure what that meant for her, though. Maybe it was better she didn’t.

“I hate to interrupt,” Lasciel said, her tone dripping sincerity, “But the day is drawing to an end.”

Willow glanced out towards the Thames and noted that Lasciel was correct. The sun was making its way down towards the horizon. It’d be almost two hours until it was truly gone, but it was clear that time was not her ally at this moment. With everyone’s voices restored, maybe the chaos had eased a little. Maybe it had gotten worse, what did she know? But unless the busses were running again, she’d have no choice but to walk and that’d take a while.

A black court vampire would be in its coffin until the sun was all gone, but the Reds only needed to avoid direct sunlight. She focused on Sanya again.

“I gotta run,” she said. “Places to go, things to do.”

The knight frowned at that. “You are bleeding,” he said. “You can barely stand.”

True enough, but that didn’t matter. There wasn't any choice. She needed to find the vampire and kill it all kinds of dead, before it went after her. Or Sarah. Sanya gave her torn clothes a dubious look.

“I’ll be fine.” She directed her thoughts to Lasciel. “I will, right? You can help me heal, can’t you?”

Lasciel made a thoughtful sound, then said. “The wounds are not fatal and as such, it does not fall under the stipulations of the deal me made. But I suppose it would be a shame for there to be scars.”

There was the sensation of a kiss being pressed to her forehead and cheek. A moment later, the stinging pain slowly faded away. It still left her with one hell of a headache, the taste of bile in her mouth, sore feet and a parched tongue, though, but it was better than nothing. Wounds to the head bled like crazy.

“Thanks, Lasciel,” she said, then blinked and focused on Sanya. He wasn’t going to kill her, she was pretty sure of that now. But it didn’t seem like he was going to let her walk away, either. So she stopped, watching him carefully.

“What do you want?” She asked, as politely as she knew how.

Sanya considered the question for a moment, then said.

“Why are you here?”

Judging by the tone of his voice, he was genuinely curious. Willow gave the room and the corpses of the gentlemen, slowly dissolving into ectoplasm now, a significant sweeping glance. His frown deepened.

“Why would Lasciel risk her newest-“ he seemed to search for the appropriate word for a moment, then grinned as he said. “Acquisition?”

Willow directed her thoughts in the fallen angel’s directions.

“Do I tell him?”

“You could use him to destroy the vampire,” Lasciel suggested. “Just make him look into those big vulnerable eyes of yours and he’ll follow you there to slay it.”

Willow returned her attention to Sanya again.

“I’m supposed to kill a Red Court vampire or - it's gonna be bad for my friend."

Sanya looked towards the bleak sunlight coming into the room through the glass and said.

“Then we’d better hurry.”

***

The streets of London had calmed down a bit when the spell had been broken, but there was still somewhat of a police presence. Not even divine intervention seemed to be enough to prevent the officer they more or less walked into from taking note of the girl with a slashed up shirt, a face covered in blood and the big black guy walking with her.

It took a while to convince him that everything was alright and by the time they arrived at the apartment, the sun was heading for the horizon. They wouldn’t have any direct sunlight in the apartment. Hell, even if there was a fight, by the time they got outside again, they were unlikely to have any light there either. Willow felt her heart pounding and tried to make her eyes focus in the dim light of the stairway they were walking up. She almost staggered at the top step and Sanya’s hand tightened around her bicep, warm and strong, steading her.

“Are you alright?” He asked.

Willow shivered, feeling a bit cold. Whether because of blood loss or her attire, she wasn’t sure, but it wasn’t a good sign.

“Let the knight take the lead,” Lasciel proposed, and at the same time, Sanya said.

“I’ll go in first, don’t stay too close.”

The door wasn’t locked. To Willow, that seemed like a bad sign. Either the vampire wasn’t around anymore, or it was some kind of psychological ploy to lower their guards. Or he was an idiot. Sanya drew the holy sword from its sheath and left the sport’s bag he carried it around in on the floor, then slowly eased the door open.

“It is in here somewhere,” he said quietly. “And it has humans in there with it.”

Willow stepped up closer.

“Maybe I should go first. If they’ve got guns, I can shield us.” She swallowed nervously; wiping sweat intermixed with blood off her forehead. “I think.”

Sanya eyed her, then stepped a little bit to the side and gave her a little bow. She eyed him right back, but then went ahead, right hand extended in front of her body as she gathered up her magic, the shield ready to spring up at a moment’s notice.

It was a calculated risk. Odds were that the vampire would prefer to send his goons in first. She’d be able get the shield up before they opened fired. If the vampire was waiting around the corner to the large living room, though – then she’d probably die.

She peeked into the kitchen, which was empty, then moved towards the living room.

Heart pounding like a jackhammer (whatever the heck that was) she stepped into the room and hardened her will into a shield, which sprung up in front of her as a pink half-sphere. Having done so rather than waiting to take stock of whatever had been waiting turned out to have been a good decision, as a knife struck her shield, was deflected, and clattered to the floor.

There were three men and one girl in the room, all of them teenagers, whose clothes and the abundance of tattoos and piercings suggested that they might not lead a very honest life. Then again, maybe they were. Because stereotyping was dumb and something Willow tried to stay away from.

Considering the fact that they were all reaching for various blunt instruments of mayhem, her assumption seemed to be correct, though. She dropped the shield. It was too heavy a strain to keep up, especially considering how weary she was already. Sanya stepped forward, sword in hand and the kids stopped in their tracks.

Clearly, he was not what they’d been expected. Or maybe seeing someone use magic had been what scared them. Either way, they didn’t exactly seemed like the ideal method of taking down a wizard. Willow probably could’ve scared them off even without Sanya. Which meant they weren’t there to do too much of the fighting – Which in turn meant… That they were a distraction. Crap.

Willow turned sharply towards the door to her right, the bedroom and had just enough time to get the shield up before it literally exploded outwards, shards of wood hitting it before being followed by the nightmarish creature that was the true form of the vampire. She hadn’t been properly braced against the impact and it sent her tumbling back onto the carpeted floor. The vampire’s gaze snapped towards the main room, where by the sounds of it, Sanya was fighting the goon squad, then back at Willow. It grinned, slather running down it's mouth and lunged.

There wasn’t a lot of time to act, but Willow already had her blasting rod in her hand. She raised it and pointed it towards the centre of the hall, at the vampire’s head.

“Kidon!” Willow called. Raw force surged forward and hit the vampire in the gut, half-way through its leap and sent it flying across the hallway as if hit by a wrecking ball. It landed on the broken splinters of the door and slid across the floor for another two feet and into the room beyond. Willow pulled herself to her feet, knowing full well that she’d only pissed the vampire off. But she’d also bought herself some time, which she sorely needed. 

The next spell, the one she’d need to kill the vampire, was one she’d never done successfully before.  
She moved few steps closer, drawing in her will along with all the hellfire readily available to her, as she levelled her blasting rod, holding herself steady with her other hand on the wall. Sensing her weariness, the vampire let out a shriek and came at her again.

Willow waved the rod left to right in a sharp motion and called out “Herev!”

The kinetic force she used was usually invisible. Reinforced by hellfire, though, it was a semi-translucent scarlet and took the shape of a great sword. It tore through the air with a howl, leaving inch-deep gashes in the walls, and slammed into the vampire’s grotesquely bulging stomach. The sword wasn’t sharp, as it would ideally be, but it carried enough force to have been swung by an ogre. Blood spattered all over Willow as the blow ruptured the Red Court vampire’s blood reservoir and stopped its momentum cold.

At the same time, Willow’s hand exploded in pain as the smell of burnt wood and sulphur filled her nostrils. She stared down at it. Her blasting rod had apparently been overloaded and there wasn’t much more than the handle and some splinters left. Some of which were stuck in her hand. 

The vampire writhed where it landed on the floor, clutching at the ruins of its black flabby belly. Willow didn’t get any closer. Even desperately injured, the vampire would be dangerous and Willow was certain she didn’t have another strike like the previous one in her. Besides, the room was spinning and going out of focus. She reached for the wall for support but missed and fell.

Crap. She needed to get up, to finish the job. But her arms felt like led and just wouldn't cooperate.

Sanya showed up out of nowhere and Esperachius swept down in a flash of silver light, taking the vampire's head off in a single clean cut. It rolled across the floor until it bumped into the wall with a light ‘thunk’. The body twitched a few times, then went still.

“Are you alright?” Sanya asked. It sounded like he was close and Willow opened her eyes to spot him offering his hand to her. She hesitated for a moment, then took it, and managed to get to her feet with his help.

“No,” she admitted, leaning heavily on her staff as she slowly watched the room stop moving around. “But I’ll get there. Thanks for the help.”

Sanya laughed at that, a hearty belly-laugh.

“That is a first,” he said, still chortling. “This job is full of surprises - and you are welcome.”

Willow managed a little smile of her own as Sanya more or less helped her into the next room. The knight of the cross had incapacitated the thralls by way of introducing them to his fists and they all lay more or less unconscious in a corner.

“Could you give me a second? I need to call my – uh- employer, I guess.”

***

Willow settled on the soft carpeted floor and breathed in deeply, legs crossed in a lotus position. She poured a soft trickle of power into her voice and said:  
“Maeve, Lady Winter, come forth. Maeve, Maeve.”

The youngest queen of the Unseelie Fae was quicker to respond than Willow would’ve expected. A sudden cold wind blew her hair away from her face and a second later, two cool smooth arms slid around her waist, hands settling on the bare skin of her stomach.

It was an intimate embrace, one that kind of made Willow wish she’d been wearing more clothes – or maybe that Maeve had been wearing less – But mostly that she’d been wearing more.

“I do like hearing you call my name,” Maeve purred in her ear, the husky note in her voice sending shivers of excitement down Willow’s spine. “I think I could used to it.”

Willow could not come up with a single clever remark to that. Not a one. Sanya walked through the doorway and stopped upon spotting Maeve. He blinked and the care-free grin slipped off his face to be replaced by a calm neutral look. He didn’t exactly put his hand on the hilt of his sword, but he kept it close, his stance wary.

“Let her go, Fairy.”

Maeve giggled and pressed her body even closer to Willow’s, then leant over her shoulder and slowly licked a path through the blood from the junction between shoulder and neck, to her chin. As icky as it was, Willow couldn’t help but to shudder and press right back against Maeve’s deliciously proportioned body.

“It would seem to me that she is perfectly happy where she is, knight,” she said smugly.

Well, she’d been in worse situations, particularly over the last forty hours or so, but there was no way she was going to let Maeve grope her in front of one of the knights of the cross - Or at all - Definitely not at all. She told herself so very sternly, just to be sure.

“I did what you asked,” she said, voice a little higher than she would’ve liked.

“Yes,” Maeve said, the word tinted with a laugh. “And now you would like your reward?” Her hand dipped an inch below Willow’s belly button at the last word. Oh no, that was not going to be happening. She slipped out of Maeve’s grasp, uncomfortably aware of the fact that she was only able to do so because the winter lady let her, and stumbled a few steps away.

“You serve this creature?” Sanya asked.

“No!” Willow shook her head to emphasise the point. “I sorta owed her a favour and now I don’t – well, she hasn’t paid up with her part yet, we’re just getting there.”

She glanced at Maeve.

“This – This is Sanya, knight of the cross. Sanya, this is Maeve, Lady Winter.”

She looked back and forth between them, not quite sure what to do. They seemed to have it covered, though. Sanya gave the Winter Lady a little bow, which she returned, a fraction less deeply, with a mocking smile on her lips.

Willow waited a moment, to see if they had anything to say to one another. Once it turned out they would not, and the silence was beginning to get awkward, she cleared her throat.

“Uh- we best get going then. Thanks for the help, Sanya. It was nice meeting you.”

***

Though the action was more or less over, it was well over an hour before they were done in London. Once both changelings had been checked in on, Maeve brought them back to Winter. Or that was what Willow assumed it was. It mostly looked like an old, expensive hotel.

The hotel room resembled, more than anything, the bedroom of some stuffy old British professor. Or – more accurately, what Willow assumed that would look like. It was rather large, with a lot of dark wood, panelling and muted colours. Bookshelves lined the walls, containing old tomes, most in a language Willow couldn’t read, though she did spot Tolkien and Rowling as she swept her gaze over them. A couple of paintings adorned the space left over, displaying landscapes that Willow suspected weren’t from the mortal world.

There was a large bed at the centre of the room, upon which Buffy lay, asleep, with a dozen books opened and discarded around her. She stirred when they walked into the room and focused bleary eyes on Willow. Her mouth dropped open and she blinked, once, twice, then settled to staring at Willow. She was tired enough that she actually had to look down at herself to make the connection between her friend’s puzzled expression and the cause for it. Ah, yes. She was still wearing the tight leather pants and the slashed up shirt. Not to mention that she was still covered in blood.

Buffy settled at the edge of the bed, focusing her attention on Maeve.

“Did you jump to some neighbouring dimension and kidnap a skanky evil version of my Will, or something?”

Willow frowned. Did she look skanky? She hadn’t been aiming for that, but then again, with Lasciel as her fashion consultant, what else could she have expected?

“It’s me – and also – hey!” She gave her friend an indignant look, which probably wasn’t all that impressing when she needed to hold on to a drawer to stay upright. Buffy rose to her feet, crossed the floor, and inspected Willow carefully.

“It’s – it’s really you,” she said, her voice soft with surprise. “I thought she was messing with me again.” Maeve received a dirty look from the slayer.

“I was undercover,” Willow explained, issuing at her tattered outfit. “And – uh- then there were monsters, but- I’m here to get you out.”

The corner of Buffy’s mouth quirked up in a smile, which was adorable, though it didn’t last once the slayer had given her a one-over.

“You’re hurt,” she said, holding up Willow’s hand and checking it out. “Geez, Will, what did she make you do?”

“Monsters,” Willow responded shortly. Her vision was getting blurry and the room was beginning to spin.  
“It was bad. We should get going. She’s promised to drop us off in Sunnydale.”

She put her arm around Buffy’s shoulders as they followed Maeve out of the room, hoping to pass it off as a gesture of camaraderie and not weakness. They moved down the hallway Buffy’s prison-room had been in. Maeve touched the door and there was a flicker of power in the air. Then she pulled down the handle and dry Californian air swept in as the door opened up into a library. The library in Sunnydale’s high school, in fact. They stepped through and the gate slowly began to close.

“Our deal is concluded,” Maeve said from the other side of the shrinking tear in the fabric of reality. Then she smirked. “I will see you soon.”


End file.
